:: 6.05.2003 ::

Ever remember being a kid and thinking, "I'll never be twenty-five"? Turns out it really does happen, as is evidenced by my birthday coming up in three days. Unless of course, it turns out to be true and I don't make it to Saturday, in which case I'd LOVE for my last written words to be a snarky joke about not surviving past my 25th birthday. The movie I saw tonight taught me that young people CAN die, especially if they get lost in the woods of rural West Virginia and are hacked to death by psychotic inbred mountain dwellers. That'd definitely be me. If I were ever in a horror movie, I'd die in the very beginning, because I'm a terrible slow runner with bad knees. Course, if I did get past the initial running from the bad guy in the woods phase, I *might* be all right, because I'm one of those people who responds to trauma by shutting down all my emotions and becoming very bitchy and resourceful. I think. I mean, granted, I never saw one of my dear friends get axed to death in front of me, so possibly I might go all freaky and catatonic, but I don't think so. I think I'd be the jerk who says "leave him, he's done for!!!" and then steals the bad guy's shotgun and drives away in his truck.

What else. I took a "geek test" and found that I am 44.39% geek, whatever that means. That sounds about right, but then again I also took a test that says I taste like coffee, so what do they know. I clearly taste like honeysuckle. Proven fact.

I found out that a guy I had a thing with for awhile is now seeing someone else. It's stupid, and it shouldn't hurt my feelings because I'm dating someone. But it does. Take into account that John said he'd call me today and didn't, and also that he's working a film festival all weekend and can't spend my birthday with me, so I'm probably feeling a little more vulnerable right now than is standard. But still. I don't know what it is about me that has such a tough time letting go of the past. I don't think I'm any less happy now than I used to be. And even if I were, it doesn't make it okay for me to be all hurt and jealous about someone I have no real claim on, especially when I'm doing the exact same thing and ALSO seeing someone new. Dumb irrational feelings.

Ahh summer in Michigan. All this weird weather makes my feelings go all wacky. But I'll taking a few trips soon, so that oughta spruce things up.

:: Annie 1:36 AM [+] ::
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Blogger's been all wonky, but it looks like it's all fixed now. Hello, new version of Blogger! My page is no longer pink and blue and in size 20 font.

Chris gets back today, and I'm going to have fun explaining to him that this entire new relationship seems to have developed all while he was out of town. "Yeah, um, that guy you met exactly once, three days before you left? He's now my BOYFRIEND." Or at least, quasi-boyfriend. Went over to his house last night, hung out with him and his brother, and watched The Single Worst Movie Ever Made. "Troll 2". There are, of course, no actual Trolls IN it. It is, in fact, about goblins. Why is it called Troll 2, you ask? I have no idea. It bears absolutely no relation to the first Troll movie, which was actually ABOUT Trolls. It isn't about the same characters, there's no continuation of location or plotline, and I don't even think it was made by the same guy. It is the most mysterious of sequels. And the most bad of movies. Read on if you'd like to hear more. SO. BAD.

Troll II

Also watched a lovely little film called "Slugs", which I very much enjoyed. It was bad, but was of Hitchcockian proportians compared to Troll 2.

:: Annie 2:07 PM [+] ::
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What a boring fucking couple of days. Chris has been out of town for over a week now. Saw a movie on Monday, Friend Joe was over on Tuesday for the Buffy finale (hold on, I think I might be getting a little choked up) and Sort-of-Boyfriend John stayed over Wednesday. That ruled. But since then? Two days of utter, flat, nothing. It's a little surreal and intriguing, actually. I'm getting a perverse Office-Space style enjoyment out of sitting on my ass, all alone, in my apartment....and not doing a damn thing. I mean, I've been *doing* things, but nothing that requires actually tapping into my brain or stretching any of my talents or indeed even leaving the house. Except to get the mail twice and go to the bank once. I've started going a little weird in the head.

I think, however, two days is enough. I am officially bored with myself. I'm going out tonight. Not with John, of course...I think I only get to see him like every three days until things become a bit more established. That is also surreal. It's been really fast, and all behind closed doors, and I haven't bothered to tell anyone about it yet. Not that I'm complaining...I think it's nice to be private while things are developing, but eventually we'll have to take on the world and our friends. I don't think it will feel quite real until we've actually been out in public together and like admitted to people that we're dating.

If that is, in fact, what's going on here. I think it is. I'm pretty sure.

Eventually, also, I will have to get another job. Unemployment is dullsville.

:: Annie 9:02 PM [+] ::
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I took someone's advice, I forget who, and worked my mojo on one of the potential romantic interests from the last entry. John. That sounds so calculated, doesn't it? Well, it wasn't. Or at least, if it was, it was mutually calculated. Anyway, I like this guy. And he likes me. It is exactly what I wanted when I was dating Greg-the weird-freaking-out-sex-robot-or-platonic-buddy-issues guy, and was NOT getting. You know, hand-holding and long earnest talks. And yes, in my head, I'm taking bets on how long it will be before something blows up. Because I wouldn't be a cynical romantic if I didn't hope for the best and expect the worst.

Tonight at five, I have yet another Detroit Area theatrical end-of-season awards banquet. I think there's two more after this one, and I am running out of nice dresses. I only have three, and I've already worn them all before. Multiple times. But whatever, I'll accessorize. And then John's coming over afterward, so I have to get to cleaning my nuclear testing ground of a room so he doesn't slip on some odd piece of crap and sprain an ankle or something. Bye all.

:: Annie 1:18 PM [+] ::
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Yeah, that's right. I never update anymore. You wanna make something of it?

To recap. Ohio boy-seeing trip was "successful", inasmuch as it could be. I got to be happy about it for a couple days, before noticing a marked drop-off in the interest and communication levels of aforementioned boy. This teaches me a valuable lesson, I'm sure, though I can't tell you exactly what it is. It probably has something to do with not buying cows and getting free milk or something. Alls I can say is that the romantic in me is disappointed and the cynic in me is not the least bit surprised.

Will I ever learn, gentle readers? The answer of course, is yes. Will I still continue to make an ass of myself regardless? Yes. Because that's what I do. I debase myself in the pursuit of happiness. I'll write a song and call it "(A Complete lack of Pride) in the Name of Love." It'll have lots of delay pedal effects.

The show closed with the absolute maximum amount of drama. Our stage manager got fired with seven shows to go, and was so disgruntled that she actually broke into the theatre over the following week and vandalized our set. The upshot of that being that the theatre pressed charges and withheld her paycheck, so we all got to split her money between us. Hey, fire em all, I say. Mama needs a new pair of rental payments. Also, they found a decomposing raccoon in the wall of the theatre, which shed a lot of light on the origins of the weird smell that had been haunting us throughout the run of the play. Eww.

Spent Monday night at the Detroit Free Press Theatre Awards, getting shitfaced with lots of venerable local actors. In this one night I somehow managed to attract the romantic attention of two separate (and VERY different) men, and while pleased and excited, I now am a little bemused about how to proceed. One of them's like, perfect for me. And the other one isn't at all, but makes up for it by being really damn sexy. The fact that I'm having trouble with this decision really clearly illustrates the depths to which I've sunk. I suddenly have no qualms about being led around by my hormones.

Christ. Remember the old days, back in my teens, when I used to be all levelheaded and scientific? The world was muchmore clearly delineated. I have entered the age of Relativistic Annie. Not Einsteinian relativity, but, you know, moral relativity.

I don't think I should write these things at 4:30 in the morning.

:: Annie 4:35 AM [+] ::
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The Dante's Inferno Test just banished me to the sixth level of Hell, where The Heretics go. What, ED gets to be on three and I'm on SIX??? In what afterlife is THAT fair? He oughta be at least a good two levels below me.

I haven't talked to my parents in like two weeks. They keep leaving messages and I keep ignoring them, and the guilt is starting to creep back into my system. Piss. I really love my mom too, but she doesn't seem to understand that she's alienating me. I think she assumes that she can grouse and bitch at me all she pleases and I'll always have to sit and take it, becasue I love her so much. But there are limits to what I'll put up with, especially at age 24 and eleven months, and especially at this phase in my life when the whole freaking point of my existence is to MINIMIZE unnecessary stresses becasue I don't want to go all crazy again like I did in college. And yet...the guilt is crushing. But darnit, I'm trying to make a point or something. You get too pushy, I'm gonna cut you off, that's all there is to it. I ain't fifteen anymore, for Christ. Oops, there I go, heretic again. No wonder I'm going to Hell.

Speaking of Hell, the rest of the other spikes in the graph of my life have levelled out, for the most part. For one thing, the play I designed props for has finally opened, leaving me free to stop planning various murderous rampages. For another the play I'm IN has been running like a little machine for three weeks now, with two more to go, and it's looking like we're doing pretty well.

In a slightly more confusing twist, it seems that one of my longtime friends has apparantly been harboring some sort of secret feelings for me for a few months now. This wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, except he's my best friend's EX-boyfriend, and MY ex-boyfriend's best friend, rendering him patently un-dateable. Read it one more time and you'll get it. How's THAT for drama? And anyway, I'm going to Ohio for a day to, well....see about this boy. tee-hee.

OH, and then yesterday, Greg (the weird-freaking-out-sex robot-or-platonic buddy-issues guy from my 4/3/03 and 4/15/03 entries) called me. Haven't spoken to him in like three weeks and all of a sudden he calls me. Tells me he's been going to a therapist, he's getting his shit together, blah blah blah. But I don't think he wants to hang out or anything, I think he just wanted to say hello. Weird. This guy is too weird to pursue. And coming from me, that's one hell of a bold statement.

Anyway.

Wanna see a couple of reviews for my play? Sure you do.
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A glowing one from The Oakland Press:
Series of Vignettes Have Different Looks of 'Love'
April 25, 2003
In the six short plays that comprise the Flanders Theatre Company's "Could This Be Love?," playwrights Kitty Dubin of Birmingham and Kim Carney of Royal Oak exercise their voyeuristic urges. They listen in on conversations between ex-lovers, spy on lonely hearts, even sit in on a couple's first session with a marriage counselor (in the "The Joy of Sex," first seen as part of Dubin's 2000 offering "The Day We Met").

Under director Nancy Kammer, the four-actor cast moves smoothly from one one-act to the next, as the twisted voice-mail dialogue of Carney's obsession-comedy "Messages" plays out during scene changes. The opening sketch begins with purposefully awful acting, but, for the most part, the cast distinguishes itself nicely from the bad actors they play, with light but convincing portraits of the play's unlucky lovers.

Annie Palmer (that's me!) shines throughout, playing an actress trapped in a love scene opposite her ex; as a bereaved woman who finds she's not alone at her boyfriend's funeral; and as a confused wife struggling to save her marriage (to a very frustrated Timothy McKernan). Mark Barrera, too effusive as that couple's therapist, hits just the right note of melancholy later as a man proposing to a disinterested woman.

Lise Lacasse gives a moving performances as a single woman trying to relate to her married-with-children girlfriend, and stands out as a nervous potential candidate for a facelift. And McKernan gives one of the night' s smartest performances as her manipulative plastic surgeon in Dubin's earnest but slightly heavy-handed "Skin Deep."

As the short plays rush toward their swift and punchy conclusions, real character development plays second fiddle to plot. Still, as the audience eavesdrops for a minute or two on the unsuspecting men and women in "Love?," Carney and Dubin's message - that love is usually closer than we think - comes through loud and clear.
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And a less glowing one from the MetroTimes....
Love Bites: The Vagaries and Travesties of Affection at Trinity House Theatre.
4/30/2003
Laugh at someone else’s misfortunes for a change.

To love or not to love (big sigh), that’s the ongoing tragicomic question that continually prods the single in spring with the torture of amour, the do’s and don’ts and the “no matter what you do, it ain’t gonna happen.” If you’re tired of depending on your own lovelorn misfortunes for entertainment, you can safely laugh at those of others now until May 11 in Could This Be Love?, a selection of quasi-vaudevillian vignettes fluttering around that most cherished and dreaded emotion, presented by Flanders Theater Company at the Trinity House Theatre in Livonia.

Local playwrights Kitty Dubin and Kim Carney have teamed up to pummel us with heartache after heartache in a gaggle of dramatic skits that subdue the viewer with a sensation not unlike eating chocolates out of a heart-shaped box: It’s sweet, sometimes chewy, with an occasional predictable bite or pleasant surprise.

Meltdown, the opening Carney minidrama, wreathes around itself in a loose dress-slip and workin’ man jeans, with dialogue all swarthy and sweaty, like, “Do you mind if I smoke?” He answers, “Hot things usually do.”

It’s a steamy, smart-mouthed, no-shame volley between a woman (Annie Palmer), half-dressed and fresh out of the convent, and a man (Mark Barrera), fresh out of the joint and looking for something to wet his whistle. But the hot and heavy comes to a halt because someone can’t keep their tongue in their mouth in this play within a play.

If you’ve tried everything and your husband’s still leaving you, blame the body. In Dubin’s Skin Deep, Lise Lacasse is convinced her happiness depends upon what reflects off the mirror in her hand. The death of a 10-year marriage has flung her into the singles-bar meat gallery so, like many women, she turns to her plastic surgeon (Timothy McKernan) for solace. But nips and tucks and fuller lips don’t give birth to self-respect. The scene delivers a few good laughs before dissolving into Chinese-menu silliness and eventually lives up to its name.

Carney’s contributions tend to dig a little deeper than Dubin’s, especially in the show’s soft-hearted, solitary centerpiece, Alone Together. Two tables rest beside each other center stage. A man (Barrera) sits at one and a woman (Lacasse) at the other. As if in a crowded restaurant, they each carry on one side of separate conversations; because of Carney’s clever timing, their answers end up creating their own enlightening conversation — unbeknownst to the speakers — with irony invisibly mediating the two.

Just as Lacasse tells her married-with-kids girlfriend that she doesn’t need a guy to make her feel complete, Barrera tells his unseen girlfriend that she makes him feel complete. Lacasse defends her singleness with a resolved, muted despair — that is, when she’s not lashing out at her successfully married friend. And spending most of his time watching his “blond of interest” flirt with other guys, Barrera sits patiently, like a heart on a table, in a constant state of open-wound vulnerability, tears ready and waiting for anything. It’s a sad repetition and overlapping of emotions that manifests a relationship between two people who never know they have one, magnifying a sense of isolation.

The evening is topped off with a double Dubin: Bye Bye Love, a dressed-in-black illustration of lovers colliding in this ménage à trois with a casket, and The Joy of Sex, a wild and raunchy visit to the marriage counselor that goes just about where you’d expect it to.

So what did you do to piss off Cupid? Just what are you putting out there that always sends the unemployed ones your way? If you’re tired of trying to figure out where that “I Date Freaks” sign is plastered on you, take a break from loneliness at home for some heartbreak onstage and share a lighter-side laugh with Trinity House at love’s little earth-shattering mishaps.
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That's all for now, folks. Keep fighting the good fight.

:: Annie 12:54 PM [+] ::
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You know, in a way, this doesn't surprise me all that much.

:: Annie 1:22 AM [+] ::
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I'm so stressed out that all I want to do is yell and sleep. Alternately, and as often as possible.

I want to shoot a large proclamation out, something like "I will never ever, as long as I live, design props for another play ever again!" This is, unfortunately, not at all true. I will, because it pays and I need money to buy things. But I won't be happy about it. I have never been so beleagured in my life as I have been in this production process, and it's turning me into a frightening crazy misanthropist. Seriously. I've been shuffling around, muttering to myself. "Hate...you...all..." Trying to perform a show and design a whole nother show at the same time is stupid and please remind me never to do it again.

And, my processor got fried, so I have to use Chris's computer until I can afford to get mine fixed, which might be a while. Hence the terse and infrequent blog updates.

And, my car is falling apart. But, I do have a friend who said he'd fix it for free, except he keeps changing the date on me and pushing it back a day and then another day and then a week and now I'm worried he may not actually ever fix it. But how can I complain, when someone's doing me a huge favor? I can't. So shut up.

And, this weekend Bill came to visit, which would have been a whole lot cooler had I not been slammed with work all weekend and in that perpetual aforementioned You All Suck Go Die Now place. But we perservered and possibly had at least a little fun. He saw my play anyway, which ruled. By the way, anyone wants to come see my play, well, e-mail me and I'll give you the pertinent info. Julian.

And my parents are driving me crazy. I'm about to adopt a non-communication policy if they don't quit being pains in my ass. I should never have let them send me money. It's a slippery slope, and now I'm mired in the mud at the bottom.

Life needs to quit kicking me in the ass for a minute, seriously. I'm starting to get a bruise.

That is all. Shut the hell up. End transmission.

:: Annie 1:09 AM [+] ::
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Am tired. Opened the show this weekend. No reviewers in sight, despite a couple of decent newspaper articles promotiong the show and whatnot. Oh well. Audience seemed to enjoy the frothy sex comedy stylings of yours truly and her castmates, so, all is well in Annie-land. I have another giant crush on someone who lives a billion miles away, no surprises there. The aforementioned "dating" situation in last week's entry has completely, predictably, fizzled. Again, no news there. At least this time *I* pretty much got to be the fizzle-or, not the fizzle-ee. Honestly, not a whole lot of big surprises this blog. You could have tracked the graph of my life from the last year of journaling and pretty much come up with this exact entry by filling in a few strategic blanks. Like a Mad Lib.

Buffy kicked serious ass tonight. As did Kimberly Locke on American Idol...man, do I want her to win. Will she? no. But I wish she would. Speaking of, good God, FOX is actually getting worse, if that's possible. The new shows coming out just look abominable.

Alana had this little "India" party the other night, where we all ate Indian food and gave each other henna tattoos. Mine look SO cool right now, and now my body modification urge has reared up big and strong. I'm gonna have to dye my hair or something after this show's done, cause lord knows I can't go getting inked again. I've never actually dyed my hair. I'm thinking....dark blond? Red? Hmmm.

:: Annie 10:03 PM [+] ::
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This is the best thing EVER. Ever.
But don't play with it at work, I'm warning you.

:: Annie 2:15 PM [+] ::
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This is not me.

:: Annie 6:51 PM [+] ::
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Ohhh, life. It's bigger. It's bigger than you. And you are not me.

Um yeah. Anyway. Yesterday was long, spent in two different rehearsals for two different plays. In betwixt, my friend Tim's car died, so I gave him a ride home and in return he lifted up my car Incredible Hulk style while I banged some of the dents out my car with a hammer. Boys are so strong, it's really kind of unfair. The damage is pretty minor, and would be almost unnoticable if the finish on my Toyota weren't so damn shiny. Every little nick and bulge reflects the light, makes it look a lot worse than it actually is. Sort of like what happens whenever I try to wear a white dress. Then I spent the later part of last night hanging out with my new friend Grant, who is just the loveliest gay man I have ever met, and who goes on and on at length about how cute I am, and why in the world am I not covered in straight boys all day long. THIS is what I want, guys. Pay fucking attention.
.
This brings me to my dating life. I'm unclear as to whether I oughta talk about my dating life, but oh, what the hell.
I started seeing someone, pretty casually, like 3 weeks ago, and it has become far more complicated than I wanted it to be, and I'm wondering if I shouldn't just stick to having crushes on people who live far away. I dunno, I like this guy. But he's so flipped out about "keeping things casual" that he goes to extremes to make sure I know it. He can't just be...normal. No, he has to either treat me like a platonic buddy or treat me like I'm his personal sex robot. There doesn't seem to be any of that nice, in-between, kissy kissy hand-holding you're so pretty stuff. I don't know how to explain to him, look. Dude. Seriously. I like you. You're interesting, and attractive, and you make me laugh and I want to kiss you and stuff, but STOP FREAKING OUT, I don't want to be your girlfriend, I'm not falling in love with you and I don't want to keep a toothbrush at your apartment. Christ. I mean, truth be told, the whole reason I'm casually dating someone in the first place is so I can get all that sweet kissy kissy hand-holding you're so pretty stuff without being forced into "making time" or having sex when you don't feel like it, or not being able to flirt with whomever you want. But as of yet, I ain't gettin my romance. I want romance. I don't want another nice male friend who wants to make out with me, you know how many of those I HAVE already??

I have half convinced myself it's not worth putting up with, and yet somehow, I still find myself hanging around him. What gives?

Off to other depressing topics. Yesterday I was standing around backstage listening to Tim and the playwright talk about their families, and how parents often try to blame their problems on their children but really it's never the kids fault. And as I was listening, I started to cry. I couldn't figure out why at first, but after a minute it came to me: because I realized that I still to this day think that all of my family's dysfunction IS my fault. That's so screwed up.

:: Annie 2:21 PM [+] ::
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Hey. Guess what I did today?
On the way home I ran into a cop car. Or possibly he ran into me. It was hard to tell.

And no, this is not an elaborate April Fools joke, unless, I mean, it's on me.

No citations were issued.
That's right. I hit a policeman, and he didn't give me a ticket. Damn Sam, am I charming or what? It probably helped that I had on a short skirt, and that he was pretty young, and the weather was nice. And perhaps he was won over by me jumping out of the car, running up to him and cutely exclaiming "Oh my lord, are you okay???"

And with that, I am going to go soak out my whiplash in a hot bath. Owie.

:: Annie 8:57 PM [+] ::
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This is the funniest news headline I have ever seen.
Man Arrested in Georgia Nun Abductions
The actual story, not so funny. But the headline? Hilarious.

:: Annie 1:00 AM [+] ::
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Someone on IM just asked me what I was doing, and I revealed my total nerdity by replying, "Oh, not much. I'm about to watch the wildfeed of last night's pre-empted Buffy ep".

:: Annie 11:22 PM [+] ::
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You know, intimating that my entire weekend was horrible is really untrue. I had a great weekend. The weather was amazing, the guy I'm complaining about actually showed me a lovely time on Saturday, despite his latter-day craptasticness and on Sunday Nick came out and we had fun getting trapped in a protest rally with lots of masturbatory Ann Arbor liberals.

east side of street: "Hey, Liberals of Ann Arbor on the other side of the road!! We are against the war!!"
west side of street: "Hey, cool! We agree with you, people on the other side of the street! No war!"
east side: "Yeah! No war! We're SO making a difference!"
west side: "yes! Let us convince each other of our rightness! Hooray for us!"
Annie: "I'm sorry...could I just.....my car is right underneath your large banner, if I could just squeeze..."
the massed throngs: "Let us raise candles and sing loudly from the musical Rent! 'no ooother roooaad...no oother waaaay.....no day but todaaaaaaaaay!!!' "
Annie: "Okay, just, my car is right.....hey, listen, that musical isn't even about that...hey! you almost set me on fire!"

Living in this town does have its entertainment. I guess it's nice that I can laugh about something, considering that we're on the brink of a completely pointless war.

:: Annie 2:42 PM [+] ::
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This is how it goes, of late. I meet someone. I get that fluttery stomach feeling. Things go well, perhaps a date or three, a kiss or two, some heavy petting. The fluttery stomach feeling increases. Oftentimes it comes, unbidden, at the mere thought of the person. I feel, for a while, kind of generally springy and optimistic. And then time passes. Perhaps it's a few days, or a week, or a month. But whatever the time, invariably one thing remains constant. The person eventually turns some sort of corner. He freaks out at the prospect of vulnerability, or perhaps he loses interest in me, or maybe he packs up and moves to Chicago and doesn't return my phone calls. Whatever the case, he is suddenly and illogically transformed from the kind of guy who gives me happy, fun stomach flutters to the kind of guy who gives me heaving nauseating stomach flutters that make me want to hide under the bed and cry.

This sort of general storyline can be applied to the past year of my life, not to mention this past weekend. And everytime it happens, I swear to myself that I have given up, that I am taking time off, that I am so fucking sick of getting my feelings stepped on it isn't worth it to bother trying. I have so very much wanted to live life with my whole heart, but you know what?? It's HARD. It just seems like that no one wants to let you, and no one wants to do it with you. Everyone has to be all guarded, and cloistered, and couch things inside of other things, and it just isn't the sort for world for someone who...wants to feel everything, you know? I have tried very much as an adult to live life the way I always wanted to, because as a kid, I never really got to be the way I wanted to be. It was all right, I suppose, as a teenager to be all angst-ridden and bitter but now I don't feel like I'm going to be a real human being unless I stop with all the bitter, guarded crap. But damn it if it isn't hard as shit. You have to understand that it means you're going to get your ass kicked by people all the time, and yet you still somehow have to maintain your philosophy that it's all somehow worth it, in the grand scheme of "Annie's betterment as a person".

Take a deep breath. Okay. Better now.

Ranting, ranting. "Love not what thou art but only what thou may become." I'm trying, I'm trying, dammitall.

:: Annie 2:11 PM [+] ::
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I'm a Philosopher/Scientist!



Which Enemy of the Christian Church Are You?

:: Annie 12:52 PM [+] ::
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Dammitalltohell. Once again, Blogger eats a perfectly funny entry. Curse you, inscrutable internet!!!!!!!

Good news. I'm definitely not dying of cancer, but I think I might have walking pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu.

I told someone I'd dog-sit for her this weekend, because I am a friend to all animals and they, in turn, love me back. And yet, her dogs hate me. HATE me. Barked continuously at me for half an hour when I went over there tonight, despite the eighty million dog biscuits I shoved at them. I'm afraid this means I've lost my soul or something. Course, my cats still talk to me, but they were evil to start with so I doubt that's any kind of indication.

You know, I'll never get well if I keep staying up until 4 AM. In the wise words of Evil Willow Rosenberg..."Leaving Now".

:: Annie 3:42 AM [+] ::
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Okay so, I had rehearsal this morning at 9 AM, which all by itself is evil beyond belief. And I already feel like crap on a stick. So I go in, and the director and the other actor are already there, making coffee. We exchange greetings, the inquire after my health, I reply that my cold seems to be taking root. And then they launch into this story about how their last stage manager got sick one day and thought she had the flu, but it turned out she had terminal cancer and she died within a month.

So now I'm pretty much convinced I'm going to die. I have a production meeting for a whole different play in an hour, but it should be over at seven, so after that I think I'll get on with the dying. Wish me godspeed.

:: Annie 5:13 PM [+] ::
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